


Assassin

by KitearaDarkblade



Series: In A Handbasket [4]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons Online
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:10:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitearaDarkblade/pseuds/KitearaDarkblade
Summary: Jet Mor'deth serves under the In a Handbasket's treasurer, Shigi Sabiki, in some rather unorthodox ways at times.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Shigi Sabiki is the creation of one of my fellow players and used with their permission.

Jet heard indistinct raised voices beyond the door which he stood outside.  He was waiting for Shigi to wrap up her dealings with a minor lord that had asked to meet with her recently.  The young drow wrinkled his nose a little.  The man was more merchant than lord, in his opinion.  His title had been bought, not inherited or earned.  Jet’s slim shoulders twitched with a minute shrug at the thought.  Either way, Shigi might want to make use of him, so he waited outside the room that the Handbasket’s treasurer had rented to conduct business from.

Within, one voice rose angrily, followed by heavy strides towards the door.  Jet straightened, looking towards the door curiously.  When it was flung open, he was almost struck by the sturdy wooden door and took a quick step back.  One booted foot remained in front of him, toe raised to catch the impact instead of his face.  Two men emerged from the room, one mottle-faced with anger.  He fumed as he stormed up the hall, heading away from Jet.

“She had best have a care for what she does, Williard,” the angry man snarled, snatching his cloak closer to him to keep it from catching on anything as he stormed off.  Jet peered out from behind the door, perking an eyebrow.  “If she oversteps her bounds too far, someone may decide to arrange for her to be shown the consequences.”  His companion reached to place a soothing hand on the lord’s arm, shushing him.

“Be prudent, my lord,” the man, Williard, murmured quietly. The lord jerked his arm away with a dark scowl, giving an irritated huff.  They neared the stairs leading down into the tavern and Jet stepped out from behind the door to better watch them.  On near silent feet, the young drow padded closer, a slight frown tugging at his lips.  He only caught a few more heated words before the lord was out of range.  What he managed to hear did send a shiver of alarm through him.  The lord spoke the name of an assassin among the Sharn Syndicate, Sy.  The hair on the nape of Jet’s neck prickled as he turned away from the stairs and moved to return to Shigi’s door.  He wondered briefly if he should mention it to her, but soon discarded the idea.  She had enough to occupy her thoughts and she may well dismiss it anyway.

As he stepped into the doorway, Jet adopted a cheerful smile that was only half an act.  Perhaps less.  Shigi had that effect on him, and most people in fact.  While she was a beautiful woman, he admired her as much for her keen mind and talent as her looks.  Jet had always been drawn to beautiful things, but Shigi rather transcended that.  She was someone to look up to and be inspired by.

Shigi looked up from her papers and favored the younger drow with a smile that made his spirits soar.  “Jetty!” she acknowledged him, her heavy accent making his name seem more exotic.  “Come in, come in.  Shut ze door, would you?” she added, patting a chair beside her in silent invitation.  Jet nodded, his smile broadening slightly.

“Of course, Madame Shigi,” he replied brightly, stepping into the room so that he could pull the door shut behind him, before moving to take the offered seat.  The drow woman reached to pat his arm fondly before turning her gaze, if not her attention, to the papers on the table before her.

“So, how do you like ze newbloods?” Shigi asked conversationally, lifting one hand to sweep a strand of white hair out of her eyes and back into the loose tail most of it was held in. Her purple eyes flickered towards Jet briefly when he began speaking, regaling her with his impression of the newest members of the Handbasket.

  
                                                                                                        ***************  


Jet shimmied out onto the massive oak tree’s limb, peering down at his target, lips compressed in a thin line.  He had shed his beloved wide-brimmed, plumed hat in favor of a dark bandana wound around his snowy hair.  He wondered briefly if perhaps he shouldn’t have left it free.  The snow covering the barren branches would certainly match it.  As it was, he wound his slender body around the branch supporting him, hoping not to be detected.

Below him, a smartly dressed servant traversed the streets, occasionally casting darting looks at the shadows and alleyways.  He had donned a tattered cloak over his finer garb but he wasn’t diligent in keeping it pulled tight around him.  Jet hoped that some cutpurse didn’t roll him before he could make his move.  The man might fare better with a simple thief, though.

The man paused at a bench, casting another furtive look around before stepping into an alley. That was enough to suit the young drow. Carefully, he scurried further out on the limb and rose into a precarious crouch.  The limb stretched towards a building bordering the alley, but he would have to jump.  Bunching the muscles in his legs, the youth leapt and landed lightly, eyes widening a little as his boots slipped on the icy roof.  He managed to recover, bracing himself with one hand before creeping to the edge of the roof.

His target was inching down the alley, body tense and jittery.  The corner of Jet’s lips quirked.  How anti-climatic it would be if the servant just pitched face-first in the snow of a heart attack!  Shaking off his macabre amusement, Jet dropped from the roof, hugging the deeper shadows of the alleyway.  The servant muttered to himself, perhaps trying to bolster his courage.  Jet used the opportunity to advance a few quick steps behind him and laid a gentle hand on his neck.  The man had enough time to stiffen before the dark elf wound his other arm around his torso, his hand clamping over his mouth while the other applied steady pressure at his neck.  Soon, the servant sagged into his arms and Jet retreated into the shadows with him.

Crouching, Jet propped the slightly larger man against the wall and patted him down.  A pouch finally yielded what he was looking for; a note sealed with a blank blob of wax.  Jet wasn’t surprised that the nobleman hadn’t used his seal, but it would have made a more interesting developement later. Carefully peeling the wax free, he dropped it in a pocket and thumbed open the missive.  Even in the shadows, his amber colored eyes skimmed the words quickly and a fierce light flared in them briefly as he shot the downed man a hard look.

Well, that was one message that would never reach its destination. It followed the wax blob into his pocket and the young drow crouched to lift his target with a grunt of effort.  Hefting him over his shoulder, Jet got the man settled and disappear further down the alley.

When Jet finally reached the cleaner, nicer streets inhabited by Stormreach's nobility, he slowed to keep an eye out for patrol men.  He found his way to the lord's manse and wound his way around the back. The street cleaners hadn't made their rounds yet, so there was a bit of debris behind the noble's walls.  Making sure no one was around, the young drow dropped his burden atop the trash heap and rotated his shoulder to work out the stiffness that had set in. Earlier he had dosed the servant with a slow-acting poison that had kept him unconscious, so he wasn't concerned about the man waking due to the drop. When his shoulder felt closer to normal, Jet moved to crouch beside the man, drawing a slender stiletto from his boot.

"I am sorry, sir," he murmured, laying a hand on his shoulder.  "I know you were only doing as your lord commanded, but I must protect my mistress."  With that, Jet slid the stiletto between his ribs, finding his heart.  The man’s lord had wanted the same done to Madame Shigi.  Enough to contact one of the Sharn Syndicate's assassins, Sy.  The dagger was quickly withdrawn, wiped clean and sheathed.

Sitting back on his heels, the drow pulled a few things from his belt pouch.  Placing a paper-wrapped roll of herbs between his lips, he lifted a striker and lit it, inhaling slowly to make sure it caught.  The end glowed a pleasant cherry red and he held the smoke in his lungs while he replaced the striker and found the blob of wax that he had pocketed earlier.  Holding the wax up, he held his smoldering herbs under it until the wax warmed up.  Then he pressed it to the dead man’s forehead, letting the smoke trapped in his lungs trickle out of his lips slowly.  He regarded his handiwork for a moment before taking another draw and holding the bundle in his lips.  With a thumbnail, he etched the tribal skull symbol that Runic had told him was his deity’s symbol in the wax and rose to his feet.

_There.  A gift for the god of death, in return for saving Madame Shigi._  A little giggle threatened to bubble in the drow’s chest, courtesy of the euphoric smoke he sent pluming into the sky.  Madame Shigi was safe; that was what mattered. Smiling to himself, the drow rose and crept into the shadows, eager to return to Phiarlan and his mistress.

 


End file.
